


coming out of a keen city

by isawet (orphan_account)



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Kid Fic, M/M, asshole!howard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-15
Updated: 2012-10-15
Packaged: 2017-11-16 09:20:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/537909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/isawet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the meme. Established Steve/Tony have a son. Magically (!) Howard from the past comes to the future and is revealed to be homophobic to Tony, who keeps it quiet because Steve respected Howard so much in the past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	coming out of a keen city

Tony finds Peter in Afghanistan, before Peter is Peter, when Peter is a three year old boy with sunkissed skin lying very still under the bodies of his mothers and sisters and his clothes heavy and dark with their blood. Tony is pulling the bodies into lines, crossing their arms over their chests and smearing the dirt on their faces in an attempt to clean them up a little, trying to ignore the holes in their chests put there by ammunition he designed himself.

Lifesigns, Jarvis reports, and Tony sees the tiny lift and fall of the boy’s chest, the little twitches of his eyelashes against his cheeks. Tony pulls him into a sitting position, checking him for injury.

“Ta sanga yee?” Tony asks, and the boy flinches from the metallic tang in his voice. Tony crouches, retracting the faceplate. “Staa num tsa dhe,” he tries, and the boy scrunches his eyes closed. A spider crawls onto his leg, and Tony goes to flick it away. Before he can the boy snatches it back, curling his palms around it protectively. He glares at Tony, his chin lifted in a wordless challenge. Tony smiles.

“Salaam,” Tony says, and the boy smiles at him, the barest twitch of his lips, chapped and pinched and still able to care about living things, his mother’s blood stained on the curve of his ear.

“Salaam,” he says, and leans his head against Tony’s chestplate when he scoops him up bridal style, the spider resting in the curve of his belly.

Tony covers his eyes with one hand when they walk by the line of corpses. “Don’t look,” he says in English, and fires the boosters in his heels gently, getting them a few feet off the ground and a hundred feet away before the boy shouts and starts to struggle. Tony lands immediately, babbling calming nonsense, but the boy crouches and presses the backs of his hands into the dirt. The spider scuttles away, blending into the dust and the sand, and the boy walks back to Tony and holds out his arms.

Tony flies very slowly home, and when they land he names him Peter, for another orphan he knows with a protective nature and a soft spot for arachnids.

//

Steve doesn’t find out about Peter for nearly two weeks, mostly because they’re both very good at not talking about things they should probably be talking about and also because they’re professional superheroes. Tony has been trying to convince Steve to move in with him for nearly a year, so it’s actually surprising Steve doesn’t get suspicious faster when Tony stops trying to steal his shield and hide it on the grounds in a strange sort of Avenger scavenger hunt. 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Pepper says, and somehow manages to have an entire wardrobe in exactly Peter’s size delivered in less than three hours. She takes the fact that his papers take four hours after that as a personal and professional failure, and goes out to find authentic Afghani food herself. They have dinner together every night, Tony with an electronic translator making Peter consider smiling and Pepper being horribly awkward.

“Loosen up, Pep,” Tony says. “this is hardly the worst thing I’ve brought home. Remember the Swedish strippers Pepper? Remember?”

“I’m really not maternal,” Pepper tells him, “and don’t ever bring up the Swedish strippers. That car is still being cleaned.”

“You’re maternal,” Tony argues. “don’t you have a cat?”

“Yes,” Pepper says, “exactly.” But she brings Peter to work with her when Tony can’t stay with him, and once Tony saw her let him play with her heels, which is basically an undying declaration of her love.

 

“Hey,” Steve murmurs in the odd hours after night and before morning, and presses a kiss to the nape of Tony’s neck. The bed dips under his weight. “Missed you.”

“Hey,” Tony yawns, jaw cracking, and nuzzles a little further into his pillow. Then he sits up so fast he smashes his head into Steve’s face. “Shit! Sorry, babe, hold on.” Steve flicks the light on, clutching at his mouth.

“Ow Tony, what the fuck.” Tony winces, trying to get to the lightswitch. “Tony,” Steve says slowly, and Tony shuts the lights off, catching Steve by the elbow and dragging him into the hall.

“There’s a kid in your bed,” Steve hisses through a fat lip. “Who is he?”

“That’s Peter,” Tony says. “My uh—“ he scratches at his head. “son, I suppose.”

Steve’s voice rises sharply. “Your son?”

“Well,” Tony hedges, “actually, my ward, according to you know, law. But in, in practice--“

“Be quiet,” Steve orders, and presses his knuckles to his temple. Tony looks at the curve of the staircase for a few minutes, the loop of the bannister.

“I—“ he says, “I know this might not be the thing you signed up for. No hard feelings if you’d rather—rather cut your losses.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Steve snaps, and steps into him, pressing Tony against the wall. He dips his head and presses his cheek against the side of Tony’s head. “I love you, you know,” he breathes. “Just tell me—this isn’t atonement, you’re not using him like that Tony because, because if you are he’s better off elsewhere.”

“I promise,” Tony says, and then, “his name is Peter.”

“A good name,” Steve says, and it is.

//

Tony isn’t actually in the room when Bruce fucking around with Asguardian wormhole tech results in accidentally beaming his father into the SHIELD lab, but Steve is pretty sure everyone in the world can hear him shouting about when he finds out.

“He says you’re ten where he’s from,” Steve tells him, and beams a little. “I’m glad I got the chance to thank him, you know? He did a lot for me.”

“Mm,” Tony says, stiff. Steve’s face falls a little.

“Aren’t you glad to see him?” Steve asks, and Tony sighs.

“We weren’t really close,” he hedges. Steve frowns.

“This is your chance,” Steve insists, and grabs at Tony’s shoulder. “Hey—this is your chance at showing your dad everything you’ve managed to accomplish, everything you’ve made of yourself.”

“Yeah,” Tony says, “I’m sure Pops will be real happy that I dismantled his war factory.”

“Our son,” Steve says pointedly, and Tony’s face goes sappy the way it does. “I already told him about us,” Steve says, frowning. “He got a little quiet.”

“Yeah,” Tony murmurs, and shakes himself. “I’m going in.” Steve tugs him around and kisses him softly, almost chastely. 

"For luck," he says, pulling back. Tony presses after him. “Raincheck,” Steve promises, and grins.

//

“Dad,” Tony greets warily, and Howard offers him a cigarette.

“Son,” he says, and it’s with that familiar brashness that Tony vaguely remembers, the faint scent of scotch that Tony definitely remembers. “Smoke?”

“Nah--I quit,” Tony says, and sits across the table from him.

“Not the only thing you quit,” Howard says, still smiling, and Tony does take the cigarette then.

“Light?” he asks, and Howard offers him a lighter.

“So,” he says, “you and Rogers.”

Tony lights his cigarette and blows two little puffs up into the air, Lucky Strike flowing smooth and even through his lungs. “Me and Steve,” he agrees.

“Steve is a good kid,” Howard says. “A good soldier. A hero.”

“Yeah,” Tony says, gripping his knee tightly under the table, “I am actually aware of that.”

“He should be settled down,” Howard says, that cool disapproving tone that hits Tony right in the gut, the same one he used when Tony spent time with his mother instead of doing schoolwork, when Tony knocked over the crystal glassware, when Tony got into a scuffle at school. “A nice girl, two kids.”

“We’ve actually got a kid,” Tony says. “A son. He's in the first grade.”

Howard laughs at him, actually laughs, his mouth twisted up in a smirk. “That’s a neat trick.”

Tony grits his teeth. “Good talk, Dad. Thanks. Don’t let the time and space wormhole hit in your drunken homophobic ass.” 

//

Fury is waiting for him outside. “No one said your father wasn’t flawed, Tony.” He isn’t apologizing for him, which is nice, but he does look a little sorry. Tony resists the urge to punch him in his good eye.

“Yeah, well.” Tony shrugs his jacket on. “Call me when he’s gone again, will you.”

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” Fury calls after him, and Tony goes straight to Peter’s school, so he can take him to the movies and buy him popcorn and help him with his homework and actually believe there’s nothing wrong with him, with Steve, with their family.

//

“I come bearing curry,” Steve says, and Peter jumps up to greet him.

“Steve!” he cries, and Steve half juggles takeout in one hand so he can scoop up Peter with the other. Peter presses a kiss to Steve’s cheek, still at that age where he’s delighted every day to see his parents after school.

“I want vindaloo,” Tony says, the last of the knots seeing his father caused easing in his chest. Steve pulls a face.

“You and your spicy food,” he says, and bends to kiss Tony hello, Peter pressing his chubby hands against their cheeks and laughing.

Steve drops Peter lightly to the floor. “Go set the table.” Tony watches Peter trot off to the dinner table dutifully.

“He asked for a tarantula again,” Tony says. “And I think Pepper might have already bought him one.”

“Mm,” Steve says, kicking his shoes off. “And how did the visit to your dad go?”

“Fine,” Tony says, and Steve narrows his eyes.

“And how did it actually go?”

Tony sighs. “One little visit isn’t going to make happy families. It went fine. Can we eat?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, “hey, I know that—family stuff,” he stumbles a little, because he doesn’t actually know. Mostly when he thinks about family before Tony he thinks about Bucky, and maybe the proud way Howard grinned once or twice.

“You are my family stuff,” Tony says, and Steve grins. “You should go see him before he goes back,” Tony adds, and stretches. Steve hums in agreement.

“Let’s go eat.”

//  
Steven Rogers calling, Jarvis announces, turning off the music, and Tony taps his earpiece.

“Hey. What’s up?”

“My annual physical’s today,” Steve says. Tony tries in vain to remember what day it is. “Thursday the fourteenth,” Steve clarifies, and Tony grins. “We’ll be home a little late.”

“We?” Tony asks, starting to wipe his hands off with a rag that might be dirtier than his fingers. “Why don’t I just pick up Peter and you meet us for food.”

“I dropped Peter off at SHIELD,” Steve says, and Tony goes very still. “His only chance to see a grandparent, you know?”

Tony valiantly resists the urge to get in the suit. “I see. I’ll see you later, okay?” He hangs up. “Jarvis! Where the hell did I leave the Aston Martin? The blue one?”

//

Tony doesn’t enter the lounge where Peter and Howard are at a dead run, but it’s a close thing. Peter is standing hunched on himself, fists clenched and shaking in the kind of righteous fury only little kids can have, and he practically flings himself at Tony when he comes in.

“Tony,” he cries, and Tony clutches him so hard he has to make himself ease up. 

“Hey, buddy,” he says. “you ready to go?”

“I didn’t mean to scare him,” Howard says, and sits back down on a couch. Tony puts Peter in a chair.

“Where’s your stuff,” Tony asks, and spies Peter’s knapsack in a corner, books and crumpled papers spilling out. He walks over quickly and goes down on one knee, packing quickly.

“Come on,” Howard says, “we were just talking.”

“You’re wrong,” Peter says with the kind of moral certainty he gets from Steve and the smug arrogance he gets from Tony. “Everything you say is wrong and I hate you.”

“It’s not the kids fault,” Howard says, and Tony zips the backpack, swinging it over one shoulder. “It’s yours,” Howard finishes, and Tony flinches despite himself, despite expecting it. 

“Shut up,” Peter shouts, and tries to kick Howard in the shins, flushed dark in the face and trembling with anger. “Shut up, shut up, shut up!”

“Hey,” Howard snaps, “you oughtta learn some manners,” and Tony started moving as soon as he heard Peter’s scream, he did, but he was slow getting started because he was trying stay calm, and he doesn’t get there in time to stop Howard from laying an open handed slap across Peter’s face. It’s a strike Tony is intimately familiar with.

Peter goes silent, his dark eyes going round with shock, and he draws back, seeking out Tony with the assured belief that Tony will make everything okay, and that trust is what makes Tony gently press Peter behind him so he can hit Howard full in the face with his fist, his entire weight behind his knuckles and the knowledge of how to throw a punch in his muscles. Howard drops to the floor and Tony steps over him, hauling him up with a hand on his collar and his fist pulled back to hit him again.

“Tony,” Steve shouts from the door, and Tony stops. Steve storms across the room, dragging Tony off and shaking him. “What the hell is wrong with you? What kind of lesson are you teaching Peter?”

“I—“ Tony stutters, and stands still, stunned. Steve tosses him aside, disgust writ across his face. Tony staggers, but catches site of Peter, leaning against the wall and twin trails of wetness down his cheeks. He shoves at Steve with both hands, pushes off him and scoops Peter into the crook of his arm. “Come on, baby,” he murmurs, and leaves without looking at anyone that isn’t his son.

//

Peter doesn’t cry, exactly, but he breathes in little terrible hitches that rip at Tony’s chest, and the fabric of Tony’s shirt grows damp. Tony ducks them into a bathroom and flips the lock before ducking under the granite slab of sinks and tucking Peter under his chin. Sometimes when Peter has nightmares he likes to burrow into little spaces, denning himself until he feels better. Tony waits for Peter’s breathing to even out, and then another five minutes.

“Hey,” he murmurs finally, and Peter snuggles into his shoulder. “Come on, lemme see you.” He wipes his thumbs under Peter’s eyes and uses the hem of his shirt to wipe at Peter’s nose.

“Why did Steve yell at me,” he asks, still shuddering a little, and Tony smoothes a palm across his scalp.

“He was just confused. Sometimes grownups are assholes.”

“Howard is an asshole,” Peter says with certainly, and Tony cracks a smile.

“You betcha,” he says. “You ready to sit up a little?”

“I have to blow my nose,” Peter admits, and Tony presses a kiss to his forehead.

“Up we go,” he hums, and sets Peter down on the counter. The door to the bathroom shakes a little in its frame.

“Tony?” Steve calls through the door. “Peter?” Peter’s tiny face scrunches into a frown.

“Yeah,” Tony says, and he doesn’t feel angry, not really. He feels a little tired, and a little sad, but mostly resigned. “Give us a minute.”

Steve rattles the door harder. “Come on, I gotta talk to you.” His tone is a little familiar, and Tony figures he’s about one minute from using his super strength to do his level best to rip the door off its hinges.

He undoes the lock with one hand. Steve comes in, his face a picture of misery. He catches Tony’s face in both hands, and presses their foreheads together. “Hey,” he says, and Tony takes a deep breath.

“Hey,” he says back. Steve smoothes Tony’s hair out of his face and turns to Peter. There’s a faint red mark rising in a welt on his cheekbone, obvious under the unforgiving florescent light. Steve looks wrecked, and he half falls to the counter, crushing Peter to him.

“You’re an asshole,” Peter says, and kisses him sloppily. Steve laughs, and his palm finds Tony’s without looking.

“I am,” he tells Peter, “but only sometimes.”

“I forgive you,” Peter says, and Steve tugs Tony into their hug.

“We should go,” Steve murmurs into Tony’s ear. “your father requires medical attention and if we don’t want to get stuck with paperwork…”

Tony feels the last of the tension leave him. “I love you,” he whispers, and he does.

**Author's Note:**

> flops around :c


End file.
